Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure by - (best self help books to read txt) đ
- Author: -
Book online «Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure by - (best self help books to read txt) đ». Author -
At last little Tim was met by a lady who had befriended him more than once, and who asked him why he preferred begging in the streets to going to the ragged school, where he would get not only food for the body, but for the soul. He replied that he was hungry, and his mother had no victuals to give him, so he had gone out to beg. The lady went straight to Mrs Lumpy, found the story to be true, and that the poor half-blind old woman was quite unable to support the boy and herself. The lady prevailed on the old woman to attend the meetings for poor, aged, and infirm women in Miss Macphersonâs âBeehive,â and little Tim was taken into the âHome for Destitute Little Boys under ten years of age.â
It was not all smooth sailing in that Home after Tim Lumpy entered it! Being utterly untamed, Tim had many a sore struggle ere the temper was brought under control. One day he was so bad that the governess was obliged to punish him by leaving him behind, while the other boys went out for a walk. When left alone, the lady-superintendent tried to converse with him about obedience, but he became frightfully violent, and demanded his rags that he might return again to the streets. Finally he escaped, rushed to his old home in a paroxysm of rage, and then, getting on the roof, declared to the assembled neighbours that he would throw himself down and dash out his brains. In this state a Bible-woman found him. After offering the mental prayer, âLord, help me,â she entreated him to come down and join her in a cup of tea with his old mother. The invitation perhaps struck the little rebel as having a touch of humour in it. At all events he accepted it and forthwith descended.
Over the tea, the Bible-woman prayed aloud for him, and the poor boy broke down, burst into tears, and begged forgiveness. Soon afterwards he was heard tapping at the door of the Homeâgentle and subdued.
Thus was this waif rescued, and he now discussed with his former comrade the prospect of transferring themselves and their powers, mental and physical, to Canada. Diverging from this subject to Bobbyâs father, and his dark designs, Tim asked if Ned Frog had absolutely decided to break into Sir Richard Brandonâs house, and Bobby replied that he had; that his father had wormed out of the butler, who was a soft stupid sort of cove, where the plate and valuables were kept, and that he and another man had arranged to do it.
âIs the partikler night fixed?â asked Tim.
âYes; itâs to be the last night oâ this month.â
âWhy not give notice?â asked Tim.
ââCause I wonât peach on daddy,â said Bob Frog stoutly.
Little Tim received this with a âquite right, old dosser,â and then proposed that the meeting should adjourn, as he was expected back at the Home by that time.
Two weeks or so after that, Police-Constable Number 666 was walking quietly along one of the streets of his particular beat in the West-end, with that stateliness of step which seems to be inseparable from place, power, and six feet two.
It was a quiet street, such as Wealth loves to inhabit. There were few carriages passing along it, and fewer passengers. Number 666 had nothing particular to doâthe inhabitants being painfully well-behaved, and the sun high. His mind, therefore, roamed about aimlessly, sometimes bringing playfully before him a small abode, not very far distant, where a pretty woman was busy with household operations, and a ferocious policeman, about three feet high, was taking into custody an incorrigible criminal of still smaller size.
A little boy, with very long arms and legs, might have been seen following our friend Giles Scott, until the latter entered upon one of those narrow paths made by builders on the pavements of streets when houses are undergoing repairs. Watching until Giles was half way along it, the boy ran nimbly up and accosted him with a familiarâ
âWell, old man, âow are you?â
âPretty bobbish, thank you,â returned the constable, for he was a good-natured man, and rather liked a little quiet chaff with street-boys when not too much engaged with duty.
âWell, now, are you aweer that thereâs a-goinâ to be a burglairy committed in this âere quarter?â asked the boy, thrusting both hands deep into his pockets, and bending his body a little back, so as to look more easily up at his tall friend.
âAh! indeed, well no, I didnât know it, for I forgot to examine the books at Scotland Yard this morning, but Iâve no doubt itâs entered there by your friend whoâs goinâ to commit it.â
âNo, it ainât entered there,â said the boy, with a manner and tone that rather surprised Number 666; âand Iâd advise you to git out your note-book, anâ clap down wot Iâm a-goinâ to tell ye. You know the âouse of Sir Richard Brandon?â
âYes, I know it.â
âWell, that âouse is to be cracked on the 31st night oâ this month.â
âHow dâyou know that, lad?â asked Giles, moving towards the end of the barricade, so as to get nearer to his informant.
âNo use, bobby,â said Tim, âbig as you are, you canât nab me. Believe me or not as you like, but I advise you to look arter that there âouse on the 31st if you valley your repitation.â
Tim went off like a congreve rocket, dashed down a side street, sloped into an alley, and melted into a wilderness of bricks and mortar.
Of course Giles did not attempt to follow, but some mysterious communications passed between him and his superintendent that night before he went to bed.
âMy dear sir,â said Sir Richard Brandon, over a glass of sherry one evening after dinner, to George Brisbane, Esquire of Lively Hall, âthe management of the poor is a difficult, a very difficult subject to deal with.â
âIt is, unquestionably,â assented Brisbane, âso difficult, that I am afraid some of our legislators are unwilling to face it; but it ought to be faced, for there is much to be done in the way of improving the poor-laws, which at present tend to foster pauperism in the young, and bear heavily on the aged. Meanwhile, philanthropists find it necessary to take up the case of the poor as a private enterprise.â
âPardon me, Brisbane, there I think you are in error. Everything requisite to afford relief to the poor is provided by the state. If the poor will not take advantage of the provision, or the machinery is not well oiled and worked by the officials, the remedy lies in greater wisdom on the part of the poor, and supervision of officialsânot in further legislation. But what do you mean by our poor-laws bearing heavily on the aged?â
âI mean that the old people should be better cared for, simply because of their age. Great age is a sufficient argument of itself, I think, for throwing a veil of oblivion over the past, and extending charity with a liberal, pitying hand, because of present distress, and irremediable infirmities. Whatever may be the truth with regard to paupers and workhouses in general, there ought to be a distinct refuge for the aged, which should be attractiveânot repulsive, as at presentâand age, without reference to character or antecedents, should constitute the title to enter it. âGod pity the aged poor,â is often my prayer, âand enable us to feel more for them in the dreary, pitiful termination of their career.ââ
âBut, my dear sir,â returned Sir Richard, âyou would have old paupers crowding into such workhouses, or refuges as you call them, by the thousand.â
âWell, better that they should do so than that they should die miserably by thousands in filthy and empty roomsâsometimes without fire, or food, or physic, or a single word of kindness to ease their sad descent into the grave.â
âBut, then, Brisbane, as I said, it is their own faultâthey have the workhouse to go to.â
âBut, then, as I said, Sir Richard, the workhouse is rendered so repulsive to them that they keep out of it as long as they can, and too often keep out so long that it is too late, and their end is as I have described. However, until things are better arranged, we must do what we can for them in a private way. Indeed Scripture teaches distinctly the necessity for private charity, by such words asâ âthe poor ye have always with you,â and, âblessed are they who consider the poor.â Donât you agree with me, Mr Welland?â
Stephen Wellandâwho, since the day of his accident, had become intimate with Mr Brisbane and Sir Richardâreplied that although deeply interested in the discussion going on, his knowledge of the subject was too slight to justify his holding any decided opinion.
âTake another glass of sherry,â said Sir Richard, pushing the decanter towards the young man; âit will stir your brain and enable you to see your way more clearly through this knotty point.â
âNo more, thank you, Sir Richard.â
âCome, comeâfill your glass,â said the knight; âyou and I must set an example of moderate drinking to Brisbane, as a counter-blast to his Blue-Ribbonism.â
Welland smiled and re-filled his glass.
âNay, I never thrust my opinions on that point on people,â said Brisbane, with a laugh, âbut if you will draw the sword and challenge me, I wonât refuse the combat!â
âNo, no, Brisbane. Please spare us! I re-sheath the sword, and need not that you should go all over it again. I quite understand that you are no bigot, that you think the Bible clearly permits and encourages total abstinence in certain circumstances, though it does not teach it; that, although a total abstainer yourself, you do not refuse to give drink to your friends if they desire itâand all that sort of thing; but pray let it pass, and I wonât offend again.â
âAh, Sir Richard, you are an unfair foe. You draw your sword to give me a wound through our young friend, and then sheath it before I can return on you. However, you have stated my position so well that I forgive you and shake hands. But, to return to the matter of private charity, are you aware how little suffices to support the poorâhow very far the mere crumbs that fall from a rich manâs table will go to sustain them I Now, just take the glass of wine which Welland has swallowedâagainst his expressed wish, observe, and merely to oblige you, Sir Richard. Its value is, say, sixpence. Excuse me, I do not of course refer to its real value, but to its recognised restaurant-value! Well, I happened the other day to be at a meeting of old women at the âBeehiveâ in Spitalfields; there were some eighty or a hundred of them. With dim eyes and trembling fingers they were sewing garments for the boys who are to be sent out to Canada. Such feeble workers could not find employment elsewhere, but by liberal hearts a plan has been devised whereby many an aged one, past work, can earn a few pence. Twopence an hour is the pay. They are in the habit of meeting once a week for three hours, and thus earn sixpence. Many of these women, I may remark, are true Christians. I wondered how far such a sum would go, and how the poor old things spent it. One
Comments (0)